"They might be sharp enough to ride in here a ways and come out the same side they rode in at.

Yuh want to hunt both sides as yuh go up." "Sure," said Luck, and hurried away up the arroyo with Pink, Big Medicine, Andy and the Native Son at his heels, leading the two pack-horses that belonged to their party.

In the opposite direction went Applehead and the others, their eyes upon the ground watching for the faintest sign of hoofprints.
That blazing ball of torment, the sun, slid farther and farther down to the skyline, tempering its heat with the cool promise of dusk.

Away up the arroyo, Luck stopped for breath after a sharp climb up through a narrow gash in the sheer wall of what was now a small canon, and saw that to search any farther in that direction would be useless.

Across the arroyo--that had narrowed and deepened until it was a canon--Andy Green was mopping his face with his handkerchief and studying a bold hump of jumbled bowlders and ledges, evidently considering whether it was worth while toiling up to the top.